The Paradox
by potidaea
Summary: Hippocrates' Fibula and "the Chinese guy's" Scalpel were lost in the aftermath of Paracelsus' reign. Pete searches for an artifact to help Myka, and he thinks he's found something - but he's going to need some help from a certain Victorian Era novelist-inventor. Bering and Wells if you squint.


_"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." _

_- Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, M.C._

* * *

He found it. He had finally found it. After weeks of searching through creepy dead end doctor-turned-serial killer artifacts, he found the link between Myka's life and death. It was Blessed Teresa of Calcutta's Rosary. It seemed so simple, so _obvious_now. After seven decades of missionary work with the sick and misfortunate, the object was believed imbued with the power to heal the soul, and by extension, the body. Pete didn't know if it would work but it was sure as hell worth a shot. Unfortunately, it was buried with the nun, inside of her international religious congregation-slash-museum in Calcutta, India. He was fairly certain stealing from a church bought you a first-class ticket to hell, but he'd broken into the Vatican. What was a couple more nuns when you'd already stolen from the Pope? Nevertheless, the Warehouse agent knew he would be tied down with pings and artifact disturbances for the next rest of his life. Instead, he called the most capable person he knew, who also happened to be unattached - Helena G. Wells.

It took H.G. all of a week to recover the artifact. After feeling out the missionary as a tourist, she realized that the nuns kept an open door policy - "breaking in" would be easy. Getting the artifact without alerting the sleeping women above? Not so easy.

Helena stood in front of the celebrated nun's grave, bracing herself for the moral ramifications of what she was about to do. As quietly as possible, the Victorian woman shifted the burial covering to allow space for her hand.

"My apologies, sister. I assure you, you would understand," she said as she pulled the rosary from a deteriorating grasp. Bagging and then pocketing the artifact for safety, she placed the replica inside the casket. Helena exited the congregation not minutes after, readjusting the concrete and leaving a donation as thanks on her way out.

Helena returned, not to the Warehouse, but directly to Leena's. Myka was six weeks post-operative, but not yet cleared for duty. Only two weeks prior had she gained the ability to walk without pain, and would need at least another month before she was functioning at optimal levels.

"Helena, what are you doing here?" Myka asked, surprised as Helena walked through the threshold of her bedroom.

"Pete gave me a call. There was," she paused remembering that Pete had told her in confidence - she _wasn't supposed to know_, "a curiosity."

Myka squinted through her glasses, "He told you, didn't he?"

A nod, "He sent me to acquire something very specific," she pulled the neutralization bag out of her jacket pocket. "Blessed Teresa's Rosary. It's believed to heal the soul and body."

It took Myka a moment, but she pieced it together. "For me. You want to use an artifact on me."

She sighed out a "yes".

"I can't let you do that, Helena. I won't. I won't let you go down that road again. I won't let Pete." She was adamant.

"It will work."

"But at what cost?"

"Steve and Claudia figured it out all right. We can, too."

"No." Helena could have smiled. Myka had certainly not lost her fortitude.

"Yes. Any consequence - _any_ - I will carry. I am nearly _one-hundred-fifty_ years old. My time has come and passed. Let me give you this. You never have to speak to me again. I will go back to London, travel, what have you. But I beg of you, do not ask me sit idly by when I _know_ I can fix this."

The younger woman began to speak but cut herself off, unable to form words.

Her voice quiet, Helena added, "I promise to neutralize it if you think it's too much."

A breath. "Okay."

Helena smiled. "I don't know exactly how it works, but let's give it a go." A gloved hand passed the prayer beads to the ailing woman, "Shall we?"

Myka clasped her hand around the wooden beads, relaxing back into her pillow as she shut her eyes. Though she focused all of her energy on the artifact, she felt no change in her body. "It's not working."

H.G. worried her lip between her teeth, thinking, "As a missionary, Blessed Teresa would have worn the rosary while she aided the sick."

Myka looked up with a smile, missing the rush of investigation, "It takes two people."

Helena quickly removed her purple gloves, stepping forward to sit on the edge of the bed, placing her hand over the other woman's. Nothing happened. She wanted to give up, to believe that she had failed again, but she so desperately needed it to work. She cleared her mind of all thoughts except those related to Myka Bering, of saving Myka Bering. Suddenly, she felt a lightness, a warmth, emanating from the cross. She looked down to see a soft, glowing white light surrounding their entwined hands.

"Myka?" Her voice was uncharacteristically uncertain, barely a whisper.

A watery smile, "I feel it. It's working."

Helena felt all of the tension leave her body as she dropped her head to the other woman's chest. "Let's agree to never do this again, darling."


End file.
